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I’ve been here once before, unable to protect the people I love, as helpless as a child.
“Aleks! Aleks!” Polina’s shrill voice, on the edge of hysteria, brings my gaze swiveling back to hers.
No.
No!
Crimson blood against white fabric. Harper’s doubled over, clutching at herself as if she could staunch the blood with her own bare hands. Blood flows and flows, over the lace and pearls,staining the ground, staining her shoes, staining my own hands when I finally get to her.
No.
I cradle her to my chest, the memory of doing this very thing in a past life as vivid as the pain. I failed. I failed to protect her.
I wake from my dream, my heart pounding. I sit up in bed and stare. I can still feel the sticky warmth of her blood on my hands. Still smell the metallic stench of blood. Still feel the heavy weight of the knowledge that I failed again.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I have to move.
The faintest tinge of light outside the window tells me it’s not quite dawn.
I close my eyes.
It was a dream. Only a dream.
It’s my wedding day, and it was only a dream.
No one’s screaming or crying. It’s blissfully quiet. Peaceful, even.
I step out of bed and stretch, welcoming the pain in my legs and arms from yesterday’s ball-busting workout. I school my emotions at the gym and today will be no exception.
I walk to the window and half expect to see white folding chairs stained with my bride’s blood.
There’s nothing but frosted grass, though. We’re not even having any guests outside. The wedding will be inside.
And that was only a dream.
Then why does my heart still race as if it actually happened?
It did once. Years ago. Another time and another place, but it happened once before.
I walk to the bathroom on autopilot and splash water on my face. Stare at my reflection, half expecting to see sunken eyes and pallid skin like I did for months following her death.
But sometimes images don’t match reality. I look too fucking healthy for what goes on in my mind.
A fist pounds on the door. It isn’t a knock, but a slam. Nikko probably.
“Come in,” I yell over my shoulder.
“Jesus, you could tell me you’re taking a piss,” he says with disgust.
“I just woke up, asshole. What do you need?” I lift the hand I’m not using and flip him off.
“You think I only come to see you when I need something?”
“No,” I say with dripping sarcasm. “You came in here to wish me well on my wedding day. Give me some brotherly advice.” I finish my business, flush, and wash my hands. I look at his reflection in the mirror. “Give me a warm hug?”
“Okay, now you’re taking shit too far. Jesus,” Nikko mutters. “First, happy wedding day.”
“Yeah, thanks. All look clear?”
